


Happy Conclusion

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 00:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12923484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight,” he says casually over the dinner.Bedelia ‘s eyes rest on him carefully, observing and assessing from her seat at the table.“A movie?” her tone is one of disbelief as though he had just suggested sky diving.





	Happy Conclusion

It was not like Hannibal to suggest something so prosaic which ironically made it the most unusual thing he had ever proposed.

“I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight,” he says casually over dinner.

Bedelia ‘s eyes rest on him carefully, observing and assessing from her seat at the table.

“ _A movie_?” her tone is one of disbelief as though he had just suggested sky diving.

“Yes,” he beams at her, “It would be nice to stay in and have a leisurely evening.”

Bedelia’s lips curl up in a smirk. All their _leisurely_ evenings amounted to one thing, not that she objects in any way. They both know what he really means.

“I have acquired a projector from work,” he continues. _Or maybe not._ It seems like a lot of trouble to go to, but if he insists on a pretence of this distraction, she is more than happy to play along. There is as much fun in the game, as in its conclusion.

As the sun fades, Hannibal begins to arrange their evening’s entertainment. As promised, a projector is set up in the living room area, facing the empty wall. He then moves both armchairs, standing side by side and looking towards the same direction. He goes back and forth, ensuring they are positioned in a perfect distance from the wall and each other. Bedelia watches his undertaking with amusement, although she appreciates his ever-present attention to detail.

Once he is satisfied with the setting, he brings over refreshments for the evening: a bottle of red wine and a tray with chocolates. He then invites her to join him. Bedelia goes to his slowly; it feels peculiar, _domestic_ , and like a lot of things she is experiencing with him, it is something she had never expected, something she is not used to.

She takes the seat in her usual chair and Hannibal offers her a glass of wine. Bedelia accepts with a nod, before turning her attention to the chocolate left on the table by her side. Taking a piece, she bites into it with gusto, savouring the treat melting slowly on her tongue. It is chilli chocolate, she notes with surprise, her favourite, but not one that can be easily found in Florence. A faint smile forms on her lips, Hannibal’s attention to detail exceeded her hopes once more.

The projector comes to life behind her, a stream of white light, swiftly followed by black and white credits.

“ _La Dolce Vita_?” she asks, recognising the opening scene.

“Yes,” Hannibal confirms, settling himself in his chair with a glass of wine of his own, “It seems appropriate.” He looks at her with a smile. Bedelia agrees, but not necessary for the same reasons he does. Ethics became aesthetics after all. She sips her wine, saying nothing.

As Marcello meets the heiress on the screen, Hannibal hands reach down and lift Bedelia’s legs, having them rest on his lap. She suppresses a chuckle; the pretence did not last long. His fingers begin to leisurely caress her skin; it feels wonderful, yet his touch does not move any further. Her alert eyes scrutinize him, but his own gaze remains fixed on the movie, his hand continuing the unhurried strokes. There is nothing else for her to do, but to focus her attention on the screen as well.

They watch the movie in silence, Hannibal turning to Bedelia only to check if her glass needs refilling. She miscalculated his intentions; domestic bliss is not something that is present on her mind as it is on his. It should feel strange, but they slip into the intimacy seamlessly, like they have always belonged here.

Her confusion softens into affection as she looks at him out of the corner of her eye. She sinks further into her armchair, enjoying the wine and the caress of his hands.

They are halfway through the movie when Bedelia finds herself restless; Hannibal’s restrain appears to be stronger than hers. Back in Baltimore, she would chastise herself for such indulgence, but here she feels comfortable and so relaxed at this moment. She feels _free._

Her foot, resting idly on his lap, starts to venture up his thigh, toes pressing against the fabric of his trousers. She watches him keenly, waiting for his reaction, but it isn’t until her foot reaches its goal that his gaze suddenly shifts to meet hers. Bedelia smiles widely now, like a cat who got the unsuspecting bird, but remains silent, her toes teasing him slowly through the material. He does not stop her; his eyes are on her, lustrous, coloured darker by lust with each passing second. It does not take long, she can feel him harden under her ministrations. She continues to stroke him, and he finally moans, reaching to grab her foot, but she retreats at once, pulling her legs out of his reach. Hannibal groans in discontent, the movie nothing more than insignificant noise to him now.

 Another smile forms on her lips as she watches the perceived rejection dimming the sparks of desire in his eyes. Some other time, she would wait and torture him further, but now she is as impatient as he is. Even more so.

With that thought in mind, she leaves her spot and walks towards his chair with a slow purpose, her bare feet moving silently, and Hannibal gasps as she sits astride him. She takes his head between her hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks, and kisses him briefly, another tease. Then her hands advance down his chest to his abdomen, fingers pushing down firmly, undoing the buttons along the way. She stops at his waistline, brushing over the bulge in his pants before retreating. Hannibal allows her to do as she pleases; he is hers to enjoy.

As Marcello works on his novel in the background, Bedelia stands up and unzips her dress, letting in fall to ground soundlessly, a mulberry splash at her feet. Hannibal bites his lips, swallowing another groan at the sight of her body clad in black lace. She straddles him again, leaning forward; her teeth graze over his neck and she can sense him nuzzling her hair, inhaling deeply. She finally offers him a proper kiss, deep and heartfelt, her hair sweeping over his face. A deep purr builds within her chest as he responds eagerly to every brush of their lips and each touch of their tongues.

But it isn’t until she removes her brassiere, fingers pulling at straps with deliberate attentiveness, revealing her luscious breasts and her own thumb brushes slowly over her hard nipples, that Hannibal finally loses his composure. It is Bedelia’s time to gasp as his arms wrap around her body and he topples them both to floor, pining her to the rug laid out in front of the chairs. She hums as he holds her tight, his lips on her in an instant, trailing wet kisses from her collarbone down to her breasts. Her body arches, inviting his touch.

“I really wanted to see the movie, you know,” he whispers huskily, his breath warm against her sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure to her core.

“I know,” she chuckles, and it turns into a sigh, as his hand slips under the lace between her legs, “But I always preferred stories with a _happy conclusion_.”

“That can be arranged,” he murmurs into her breasts while his deft fingers part her folds and slip into her hot centre.

Bedelia moans and wraps her legs around him. She can get used to his version of the sweet life.

**Author's Note:**

> Netlix and chill bedannibal style. :) At least I hope it is. This is how I imagine their "movie night"; black and white European movies and wine. Since there was no couch in Florence, I had to improvise. There definitely was a couch and more movie nights in their next places of residence.


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